Page 5 of The Queer Principles of Kit Webb
“Cousin Edward,” Lionel said when he saw Percy waiting in the parlor.
“Father,” Percy responded, getting to his feet and bowing his head.
“Have you come to tell me of your travels?” Lionel asked, and Percy realized his cousin probably imagined that Percy had dined with the pope or some such.
“You’re a kind man to invite me to bore you with my stories,” Percy said. “But in fact, I have a more sorrowful reason for my visit.”
“Oh dear,” Lionel said, and gestured for Percy to sit.
“As you know, I was in Florence when news of my mother’s death reached me during the summer of last year. The solicitor wrote to me about the portions of her marriage settlement that pertained to property left to me upon her death.” There had beenstartlingly little. The property that was his mother’s dowry passed into his father’s hands at the time of their marriage, with a nominal amount held back for the dowries of their future daughters.
“I hoped you could tell me what became of her personal property. When I returned last month, I discovered that her rooms were now occupied by the new duchess, and my mother’s little things—books and combs and so forth—were gone. My father claims to have distributed them among the servants, but I hope he sent you something as well.”
Lionel frowned. “Indeed, he did not. But, as you know, your father is hardly sympathetic to the true faith.”
Percy hummed in understanding. “I wish I had something of hers to remember her by,” he said. Which was the kind of truth he didn’t like to think about, so he uttered the words without letting them seep into his thoughts. “Do you remember that little green book she carried about? I’d pay a king’s ransom for the chance to even see it one more time.”
Percy didn’t know if it was his imagination or if something shifted in his cousin’s posture—a tilt of the head, a narrowing of the eyes, but suddenly the old man looked as shrewd as Percy’s mother.
“The only book I ever saw your mother with was her Bible,” Lionel said.
As far as lies went, that was a bad one, because there was no possibility Lionel had somehow escaped noticing that little book.An easily disproven falsehood is no better than a confessionwas one of the duchess’s lessons.
“That’s a pity,” Percy said lightly. “If you remember anything about it, please do tell me. Meanwhile, I’ve brought a bank draft for you to use as you see fit in the tending of your flock.” Hetook the paper from his pocket and left it casually on the chimneypiece, and hoped that his cousin would correctly interpret that as a promise to pay for future information.
When he returned to Clare House, Percy found his valet waiting in his apartments.
“If you’ll forgive my forwardness, my lord,” Collins said as he helped Percy out of his coat, “but my lord is satisfied with my service, I hope.”
Startled, Percy regarded his manservant in the looking glass. “Of course I am. We’ve been to Italy and back. You got me through that beastly sickness in the Alps. When you do something daft, like try to get me to wear crimson, I tell you so.”
“That is a relief, my lord.”
“What prompted this crisis of confidence?”
“The duke has dismissed Mr.Denny.”
“He’s done what?” Percy asked, astonished. Denny had been the duke’s manservant since before Percy was born.
“Indeed, my lord. Mr.Denny’s replacements are two large and scruffy ruffians, neither of whom seems capable of brushing a coat or dressing a periwig. They take turns sleeping in the duke’s antechamber.”
“Ah.” Percy wondered if Collins knew he was describing guards. “And where is Denny?” If the duke’s former manservant had been sacked and cast out without a farthing, Percy could possibly employ him to help access his father’s inner chamber.
“He mentioned to the underhousemaid that he planned to open a public house in Tavistock, where his people are from.”
Percy raised an eyebrow. That didn’t sound like the man was dismissed so much as paid off. He wondered if Marian’s brothercould be persuaded to make a trip into Devon to have a chat with the fellow.
“Thank you,” Percy said to his valet. “You are, as ever, invaluable.” He wanted to say more, wanted to assure Collins that whatever was happening in the rest of the household, Percy would see that Collins was treated fairly. But he did not, first because he knew he was in no position to make promises, and second because he knew better than to be effusive in his praise or excessive in his reassurances—both were sure signs of a desperate man, according to the duchess, and the duchess had seldom been wrong about these things.
Chapter5
Percy was surprised to find that he was an adequate spy. After twenty-odd years of assuming that attention and notice were his due, it was rather humbling to see how quickly he became invisible. Without all the usual accoutrements of fashion—wig, powder, patch, rouge, and so forth—and wearing a forgettable brown coat and a similarly forlorn pair of breeches Collins grudgingly acquired at the secondhand stalls, he was able to spy on Webb unnoticed. For a week, he sat at the central table of the coffeehouse, sometimes armed with a newspaper but always keeping a keen eye on the proprietor. Nobody cast him a second glance, not even Webb, who had hardly been able to take his eyes off Percy when he had been dressed to attract attention.
After a week, Percy realized that he had badly missed his mark by offering Webb money. While Percy was certain that everybody had his price, Webb’s price would not be strictly monetary. He was plainly living within his means. He kept the premises in good repair, let the girl—Betty—keep any tips the patrons left, and often swept and polished the tables and fittings himself. When a drunken street brawl became a regular melee and a broom handle got put through one of Webb’s windows, Webbhad the glazier repair the broken pane that very day and paid him on the spot without even attempting to haggle over the cost.
While Webb’s upstairs office was furnished in a spare, almost spartan, manner, Percy had noticed a wax candle burning in the simple pewter candlestick, not cheap and smelly tallow or a humble rushlight. Percy didn’t know much about poverty, but he knew what it looked like when a man wasn’t in the least bit worried about where his next meal was coming from—mainly because he could compare what he and Marian had looked like before their present crisis with what they looked like now. Perhaps Webb had just been that good at his former trade and now had ample savings.
If Webb couldn’t be enticed with money, then Percy would have to find another way to persuade him to join in his scheme. He watched Webb, looking for a weakness he could exploit. A weakness, according to his mother, was anything at all that Percy could use to his advantage. He’d find Webb’s weakness; it was only a matter of time. Meanwhile, it was no hardship watching the man.
